The Lion's Pride
by Silently Watches
Summary: Rufus doesn't know why Harry Potter thinks him such a villain, but he certainly does not appreciate the churlish attitude. Canon scene from a different POV


**I've always found chapter 17 of** _ **Half-Blood Prince**_ **to be a little strange. What Rowling** _ **wanted**_ **us to think about Scrimgeour was obvious, but for me it just didn't work. Harry made a lot of assumptions on little to no information, and because of that I really can't agree with him in either of his spats with Scrimgeour. Instead, let's consider the possibility that the new Minister actually** _ **wasn't**_ **a corrupt moron and take a look at just what might have been going through his head on that chilly Christmas morn…**

 **Disclaimer:** Did Harry ever stop and think – in any instance – that there might be more to the situations he kept getting into than he was aware of? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.

* * *

Rufus trudged out into the snow, his bad knee protesting the change in temperature quite vehemently, and from behind him he heard the crunching of Potter's footsteps as the young man followed. For all that his old injury pained him out here, however, this was far better than trying to have a conversation in the middle of all that family drama. It had taken considerably more effort than it ought to convince his assistant Weasley to visit his parents on Christmas, and he really did not want to know all the particulars as to why that was.

Still, that was neither here nor there. Rufus stopped once they were far enough that all but the loudest arguments from inside would be more or less unintelligible and swept his eyes over a small garden that reminded him of the one his Muggle grandmother had kept when he was younger. "Charming," he praised, stopping to lean on the garden fence and take some weight off his bum leg. "Charming."

Potter said nothing, merely watching Rufus watching him, and after a few moments the Minister broke the silence. "I've wanted to meet you for a very long time. Did you know that?"

"No," Potter answered quietly.

"Oh yes, for a very long time." In fact, he had wanted a chance to sit down with the young man ever since hearing the details of Potter's sham of a trial the previous year. To hear Amelia describe it, he had handled the situation with far more aplomb than Rufus could ever have managed at that age. "But Dumbledore has been very protective of you. Natural, of course, natural, after what you've been through," he admitted. "Especially what happened at the Ministry…"

 _Though I do hope he got you someone to talk about all that with_ , he added silently. Amelia had offered the services of the DMLE's councillors for all six of the teens who had been involved in that, and then, when it looked like she would be the new Minister of Magic and he the director of that department, he had sent Dumbledore the same proposal. Both offers had been perfunctorily rejected.

When Potter still said nothing, he tried again, "I have been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I took office, but Dumbledore has – most understandably, as I say – prevented this."

Now Potter's blank stare was starting to get annoying. Unlike the teenager, he did not of the luxury of being able to stand out in the cold indefinitely – his knee voiced its painful agreement to that sentiment – but unless Potter held up his own side of the conversation, that was how long this would take. Maybe a different approach?

"The rumors that have flown around! Well, of course, we both know how these stories get distorted. All these whispers about a prophecy," he hinted, "of you being 'the Chosen One'…"

Potter hadn't lost the ability to speak in the last thirty seconds, had he?

"…I assume Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?" he finished weakly.

The teen turned to look over the snowy ground, and just when Rufus was beginning to consider checking to be sure he had not been duped with a lifelike puppet, he answered, "Yeah, we've discussed it."

Finally! "Have you, have you…" Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, "And what has Dumbledore told you?"

"Sorry, but that's between us."

The young man's voice was pleasant, but he immediately backtracked. As long as the information was passed on, Rufus supposed exactly how it was said was none of his concern. "Oh, of course, if it's a question of confidences, I wouldn't want you to divulge… no, no… And in any case," he wondered aloud, "does it really matter whether you are 'the Chosen One' or not?"

Another second passed before Potter replied. "I don't really know what you mean Minister."

"Well, of course, to _you_ it will matter enormously," he laughed. "But to the Wizarding community at large… It's all perception, isn't it? It's what people believe that's important."

The teen was still gazing uncomprehendingly over the lawn, and he cursed internally. He had never been good at this political game, far too blunt to engage in subtle double talk, but right now he needed the young man to help too much for him to be his normal self. "People believe you _are_ 'the Chosen One', you see," he explained. "They think you quite the hero – which, of course, you are, Harry, chosen or not! How many times have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now? Well, anyway, the point is, you are a symbol of hope for many, Harry. The idea that there is somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…" He shook his shaggy head. "Well, naturally, it gives people a lift. And I can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it, well, almost a duty to stand alongside the Ministry and give everyone a boost."

And at this point, they needed any method to boost morale they could find. Just walking down Diagon Alley was depressing: shops closed or in some cases burned to the ground, anyone outside scurrying from place to place like frightened mice. This war was not just about who sat in the Minister's office; it was for the hearts of the public. Everyone knew what You-Know-Who stood for, but if these dismal conditions stayed as they were, eventually people would not care what he did to Muggleborns so long as _their_ lives improved. As a Halfblood himself, not to mention an upholder of the law, Rufus would not permit that to happen. Not while he still drew breath.

Potter just stood there, frozen in place, and finally Rufus looked out to see what had distracted the teenager so. All he found was a gnome scrabbling in the icy dirt. "Funny little chaps, aren't they?" he asked to try to regain the young man's attention. "But what say you, Harry?"

"I don't understand exactly what you mean," Potter said slowly. " _'Stand alongside the Ministry'_ … What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing at all onerous, I assure you. If you were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance, that would give the right impression." And would take all of, what, a couple of minutes a month? Just a quick Floo trip to the DMLE office and crossing the Atrium to leave via the public fireplaces should be enough to raise the public's spirits at least a little. Potter still did not look convinced, so to sweeten the offer, he added, "And of course, while you were there, you would have ample opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror Office. Dolores Umbridge has told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could be arranged very easily…"

If someone had made that offer to a young Rufus, he would have jumped on it then and there; after all, it was hard to find a better reference when it came time to apply for the Auror Academy than the Head Auror himself. Potter, however, was considerably more cautious. "So basically, you'd like to give the impression that I'm working for the Ministry?"

"It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved," he agreed happily. "'The Chosen One', you know. It's all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening…"

"But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry, won't that seem as though I approve of what the Ministry's up to?" Potter asked.

 _That_ _ **is**_ _what I just said_ , Rufus thought. "Well, yes, that's partly why we'd like—"

"No, I don't think that will work," Potter cut in, and Rufus grit his teeth. Being interrupted was his biggest pet peeve. "You see, I don't like some of the things the Ministry is doing. Locking up Stan Shunpike, for instance."

And with that, Rufus's main concern was confirmed. How many times had Dumbledore ordered – not requested, not discussed, but _ordered_ – that Shunpike and his fellows be released? Forty, maybe? And of course the old man did not concern himself with such minor details as the _facts_ of the case. What did it matter that they only investigated him in the first place after an MLEP Patrolman going out to pick up dinner from a local pub overheard him talking with two other wizards about going on a Death Eater raid and murdering Muggles? And while a thorough interrogation had revealed that Shunpike actually did not have any current connections to the Death Eaters, the fact remained that he fit the profile for someone who would be easily recruited. He was a poor Pureblood, worked a menial job, obviously had no compunctions about terrorizing Muggles, was envious of those of 'dirty' blood who stood above him socially and financially, and believed his less than spectacular lifestyle was due entirely to being disenfranchised rather than a lack of intelligence, talent, or ambition on his part.

All it would take was one person appealing to Shunpike's insecurities and proposing that a Death Eater–led government would see him elevated to the status he felt entitled to, and he would next be found wearing black robes and a silver mask. Between that certainty and the fact that conspiracy to commit a crime was still a crime in itself, Rufus felt fully justified in having Shunpike, as well as the two other wizards, held without bail until the trial.

Explaining that to a die-hard Dumbledore supporter was, unfortunately, an exercise in futility. Instead he replied, "I would not expect you to understand. These are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken. You are sixteen years old—"

"Dumbledore's a lot older than sixteen"—again with the interruptions!—"and he doesn't think Stan should be in Azkaban, either," the boy said in a self-righteous voice. "You're making Stan a scapegoat, just like you want to make me a mascot."

Rufus had to fight hard not to let his eyes roll at that. He did not want a scapegoat; he wanted to see the guilty punished and the innocent protected. And that duty would be so much easier if Dumbledore and his devotees, none of whom had any experience in law enforcement, would just get out of the way and leave it to the people who actually knew what they were doing.

"I see," he finally said. "You prefer – like your hero"—he nearly spat the word—"Dumbledore – to disassociate yourself from the Ministry?"

"I don't want to be used," Potter snapped back, and Rufus nearly laughed at that blind stupidity. _Open your eyes, boy; you are already being used!_ In parroting Dumbledore's words rather than having a single original thought in his head, he had willfully demoted himself to a mindless tool. At least if working with the Ministry, he would have been treated like a person!

But, Rufus thought as he re-estimated the boy's worth, Potter was still young. He would make one last effort, one more appeal to Potter's sense of societal obligation. "Some would say it's your duty to be 'used' by the Ministry."

"Some would say it's your duty to check that people really are Death Eaters before you chuck them in prison." Rufus opened his mouth to explain to this ignorant boy just how their justice system worked, but Potter barreled on, "You're doing what Barty Crouch did. You never get it right, you people, do you? Either we've got Fudge, pretending everything's lovely while people get murdered right under his nose, or we've got you, chucking the wrong people into jail and trying to pretend you've got 'the Chosen One' working for you!"

At that, Rufus's jaw slammed shut with a sharp clack, and he bit his tongue to keep from shouting. What did this brat know?! It was not the comparison to Fudge that infuriated him so, but he would _not_ have Bartemius Crouch maligned in front of him. Oh, he knew that many people did not approve of the expanded powers Crouch had pushed through during the last war, but those protestors were the same individuals who hid shivering beneath their beds while the Aurors were out fighting those rabid dogs. Rufus, on the other hand, remembered well the results of those changes: fewer funerals for his fallen friends and comrades. Fewer wives sobbing over closed caskets, hearts broken beyond repair. Fewer children with blank stares as they realized Daddy was never coming home again.

And if his strategies and his devotion to his men were not enough already, Crouch had then impressed them all with his integrity. When his own son was found to be a Death Eater, most of them would have understood if Crouch had pled for leniency, even with Frank and Alice Longbottom – two of _them_ – being the victims. Instead he had sat and watched with tear-filled eyes as his only son was sentenced to life in prison because his incorruptible morals, before then his greatest strength, would allow him to do nothing more. Crouch was a role model, an example of the dedication that was required to be an Auror.

Searching for anything to distract his rising anger, he fell back on Potter's last words and taunted, "So you're not 'the Chosen One'?"

"I thought you said it didn't matter either way?" the boy returned with a bitter laugh. "Not to you, anyway."

He huffed and sighed. For all that this brat was irritating him, that was no excuse for his rudeness. "I shouldn't have said that. It was tactless—"

"No, it was honest." He nearly snarled as this arrogant child again talked over him. "One of the only honest things you've said to me. You don't care whether I live or die, but you do care that I help you convince everyone you're winning the war against Voldemort. I haven't forgotten, Minister…" Potter showed Rufus the back of his right fist, blanched from the cold air and tightly clenched, as if that was supposed to mean something to him. "I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back. The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last year."

The silence that hung in the air was as cold as the snow around them. This had been a wasted trip, Rufus decided. He had come by with hopes of discussing matters with Potter like rational adults, but instead all he had found was a bizarre cross between a broken toy and a selfish, self-absorbed child. Easing his weight off the fence and onto his aching leg, he prodded one last time, "What is Dumbledore up to? Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea," the boy replied in a haughty voice.

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew," he asked knowingly, "would you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

Rufus silently growled at the continued attitude. Clearly there simply was no common ground to be found here. Half to himself, he said, "Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means."

"You can try," Potter said with affected apathy. "But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you."

 _I'm sure you would, but you would be perfectly content if Dumbledore named himself king of the Wizarding World, too, wouldn't you?_ Those who adhered to Dumbledore's philosophy were very much like a cult, he thought not for the first time. They were distrustful of all others who did not base their lives on his will, and they were quick to fight anyone who actively disapproved of their zealotry. He, on the other hand, was naturally leery of the man. Headmaster of Hogwarts, from whence he could influence the minds of the country's future leaders during their formative years; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which gave him a great deal of influence over what bills came up for a vote; _and_ Supreme Mugwump in the International Confederation of Wizards, where he had been not just Britain's voice in the international community but also represented Europe as a whole? No one individual should hold that much power, which was the reason one of Rufus's earliest actions as Minister was to remove Dumbledore from that third position once again.

As one of his Hogwarts friends had been fond of pointing out whenever the subject of the government came up, _'Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely'_. Dumbledore had been, and honestly still was, far closer to absolute power than he had any reason to be.

"Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you," he eventually said, eyes hard as he looked at the brainwashed drone before him. "Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," Potter answered proudly. "Glad we straightened that out."

The boy marched back into the ramshackle house, and Rufus shook his head in disgust. He had not put much stock in the rumors about a prophecy before, but now he hoped with everything he had that they were false. _Because if they aren't, if he really is the only one who can defeat You-Know-Who? Our nation is doomed_.

* * *

 **I wish I could say I was making up the psychological profile Scrimgeour attributes to Stan, but sadly if you replace "Pureblood" with "white", you get the stereotypical mindset of the freshly recruited Neo-Nazi.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


End file.
